


I want you (he’s so heavy)

by Drowsydeacon



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Early days/before the band is a thing, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, John shows Roger how to play the bass, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28446321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drowsydeacon/pseuds/Drowsydeacon
Summary: Roger takes a drive to John’s house, realizing that he may want more than he anticipated. Wanting more than he bargained for.
Relationships: John Deacon/Roger Taylor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	I want you (he’s so heavy)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi so I’m a bit rusty on writing fics this is only the second one I’ve written so don’t yell at me ik it’s not perfect. Wow look at that, it’s the second time I’ve posted a fic at 1 in the morning. I guess I never do learn. Anyways, It’s a really cute scenario pls don’t click off, just read it it’s really cute I promise.
> 
> Overall title is the song I want you (she’s so heavy) by the Beatles, and chapter title is This night has opened my eyes by the Smiths.

As Roger pulled out of the icy driveway, he unconsciously flicked on the rock station.  Tonight  by Motley Crue started to blast through the speakers that were weaved throughout the front and backseats. 

“Shit” he mumbled, frantically reaching to turn the volume down before his hearing gave out. 

Roger thought the band was pretty good, although many people weren’t afraid to tell him otherwise. “It sounds like absolute shit” his friends would tell him. “They’re just a hair band that’s all” the guy at the record store would proclaim.

Backing up into reverse, he caught a glimpse of the sky, realizing it was on the verge of sunset. The sky had this funny thing of turning black when it was only bloody 4:56 on a Saturday night. Roger had just recently learned how to drive, being that he was only 16 (and a half, he made sure people know he was closer to being a man than a baby), he had to make sure he was paying perfect attention to the road, he didn’t want to end up fucking butchered like Razzle did in 1984. 

The ride there was pretty peaceful, he was grateful that most people were out at pubs and parties as opposed to being out on the road. He always did get a little distracted checking out all the car models as they passed by. He had to admit he was a little bit of a whore for cars. That wasn’t the only thing he could be a whore for... Roger smirked as a twisted thought crossed his mind-  _what if he was to speed?_

He tested out the waters by lightly accelerating, upping his speed to 70 down the long road. He always considered himself a risk-taker, his friends like to joke he was a bit of a daredevil even. But he knew that deep down he wasn’t fully the charming comedian that he portrayed himself to be. Sure, he had his looks, but his self-conscious mannerisms of running his hand through his silky hair and scratching his nose when he was nervous always overtook him. Others interpreted it as charming cheekiness, maybe even a seductive manner, but he knew otherwise. Snapping out of his surprisingly deep thoughts, he realized he was a few blocks away from his destination and cooled it on the speeding, bringing it back down to a legal level. A flaming red porche flew past Rogers beat up Chevrolet, causing him to panic and jolt his car slightly out of line. 

“Oh, fuck you!” He cursed, feeling obligated to give him the bird. 

As his heart rate slowed down and the sweat on the back of his neck cooled, he pulled into the driveway. Turning off the engine, he reached for his cologne and sprayed it delicately on his neck and shirt. Wait- why is he trying to smell good? This guy is only his friend, who does he have to impress?

Roger ran his fingers through his hair, and assured himself that he was fine. He wasn’t nervous, he was fine. Just fine. His heart beat told him otherwise, it must still be thinking about his driving scare. No, hearts don’t have a brain, he thought, causing him to slightly laugh and reach his hand to cover his forehead. He quickly looked up and snapped his hand down, feeling self conscious that he was showcasing his thoughts to the outside world. The dark street stared at him, challenging him to realize how silly he was being.  _There’s nobody here silly_ ,  the wind scolded him. Roger turned around, he could’ve sworn the wind was talking to him. Nobody was there. 

Stop it. Just walk up to the door and ring the bell. Don’t be nervous.  _Shut it, I’m not nervous_ ,  he affirmed himself. Talking to himself in his head was nothing new, it was like a game- how could he annoy himself the most simply by arguing with himself in his head. Roger raised his hand to knock at the door when he spotted the doorbell, and he quickly jolted his hand to the doorbell instead, straining his eyes to the side to make sure nobody just saw him embarrass himself. 

He waited a moment for someone to come to the door before he reached for the doorbell again. Caught off-guard, someone opened the door. Looking up and taking a second to examine, he noticed the lanky brunette, sporting faded blue jeans and a white Led Zeppelin t-shirt. 

“John.. hi,” he stuttered. Why was he acting so nervous?

The boy smiled at him, waving him inside his house as he shivered slightly from the cold. Roger could see the growing goosebumps up and down his arms. 

“I uhm, I didn’t know you were one of those stuck-up rich kids,” he teased, referring to Johns more-than-reasonably sized house. The exterior was a soft white, almost mimicking the blanket-effect that snow exuded. Snow.. wait. He glimpsed outside, and found a steady flurry starting.He shouldn’t have been suprised, it was late December, after all.

“I most definently am not stuck up!” John whined, clearly joking right back with Roger. “I do although, have no comment on the rich part” he stated sarcastically, grinning that cheeky grin at Roger. Gosh, he’s so lovely when he smiles that real, true smile.. no. No, he cannot be thinking this. John is a friend, that’s all. But, friends can think nice things about other friends. Right? “I’m just playing with you, you wanker, my mum likes to call us comfortable” John snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah yeah, whatever, big shot”

John smiled dantily and without thinking twice began to communicate to Roger with a turned back. “Would you mind taking off your shoes?” John placed both hands behind his back. 

“Demanding, are we?” Roger answered slyly. This caused John to whip around, to find Roger mimicking John’s hand placement while opting to latch his hands together, emitting the effect that a young girl would have while pleading to her parents. 

John rolled his eyes as he raised his eyebrows, patiently waiting for Roger to do as he says. Luckily Roger quit the waggery and obliged. John studied the boy’s face, his thin pink lips, and those big round sapphire eyes... “Oi Rog” John grinned. 

“Hm?” Roger looked at him like a lost puppy. 

“Your nose, it’s pink” John focused on Rogers small nose, giggling at it’s pink pigmentation.

“Stop looking at my nose! It’s bloody brass monkeys out there” he covered his nose with his left hand.

John giggled, but he lost his energy to continue the conversation. Roger noticed the still wave in the conversation, which intensified his nerves even more so. Luckily, John decided to speak again before Roger could come up with something interesting to say.

“Soo, what would you like to do?” John politely asked, eyeing Roger. 

“Mm.. up to your room?” He suggested.

“Is that what you tell all your birds?” John teased. This caused Roger to raise a cautious eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” hoping his sarcasm was picked up on.

“You have such a way with words, now c’mon n follow me, Shakespeare” John scoffed and led Roger up the spiral staircase. 

“Romeo o Romeo, where art thou Romeo?” Roger backed towards the staircase railing and dramatically placed his palm outwards on his forehead, aiming for a damsel in destress impersonation. 

Peering back slightly, “Oh, so that makes you Juliet then I suppose?” John covered his mouth to muffle a laugh.

Roger stopped, his feet on two different steps. “You suppose wrong, I’m definently Romeo!”

“Shakespeare, you seem a little mixed up,” John sighed jokingly.

“Nuuh, you would definently be Juliet, with your luscious long waves” Roger reached out to twirl Johns flowy hair.  _Shit. Did he really just touch Johns hair? Stop getting in peoples personal space. Take your hand away._

John whipped around, he hated when people touched his hair. He and Roger made eye-contact. He meant it as a joke, but it seemed like it turned into something more. John finally looked away after what felt like definently more than five seconds. He promptly faced back in the right direction and informed Roger that they were almost at his room. Being wealthy comes at a price; walking distance. His house was absurdly large, he couldn’t begin to imagine the square footage. 

That was weird,  Roger thought. He had just made intense eye-contact with John Deacon. It felt.. intimate? No, not intimate. He couldn’t be intimate with a guy. That’s not right.

Brushing away his intrusive thoughts, Roger looked up and peered down the elegant long hallway, each door decorated with endless white Cambridge trimmings. He followed John to the second door on the right side. 

“Erm, here we are” John muttered. “Don’t mind the mess”

The slight mess of schoolwork sheets and music printouts scattered along Johns desk and trailing onto the floor was the least of Roger’s concerns. “Your room doesn’t really match the rest of your house” he blurt out. 

John glanced at him, intrigued at what Roger meant, “What, are you suggesting my room isn’t nice?” 

“Oh of course it’s nice - nice and empty” Roger taunted playfully. 

That earned a sassy eye roll, “Much like your brain” he retorted back.  _ Witty, I like it._

“Hey! My brain’s always thinking” Roger huffed. 

“I actually wouldn’t doubt that, being that most of the stupid shit that comes out of your mouth must’ve not had enough room to be stored in your brain”  _John must be feeling pretty cheeky today, I wonder what else I can get out of him._

“Watch it Deacon, I might just go full on medieval times on you and stab you in the heart with my sword” Roger produced a whipping motion with his arm, attempting to subtlety find a reason to touch John. 

“For the last time Roger your dick isn’t a sword and I would prefer it to be 6 feet away from me at all times” John chuckled softly.. but that pretty laughter quickly came to a pause, “Hey, did you just gift me a nickname?” John usually wasn’t one for late reactions, but he was so caught up in the witty banter that he failed to notice that the blonde had called him Deacon. That was a new one, he had never had a nickname before. 

“I must be in the Christmas spirit” was all Roger could quip. 

Roger eyed the room, it was smaller than anticipated, given the size of the house. He was sure that the other bedrooms were more spacious than this, leading him to wonder why John would pick this room? His eyes wandered a bit, leading him to a large case that sat in the back corner of the room next to the desk. 

“Mm wha’s that?” Roger pointed to the object. Maybe it was his eyes failing him, but he couldn’t make out what the blob was for the life of him. 

“Just my bass” John stated matter-a-factly. 

“Bass?? I didn’t know you played?”

“What, the music printouts didn’t give it away?” 

“What a cheeky mood you are in today, I kinda like this John, he should come out more during classes” Come out? Gosh why did Roger have to use those words. No, no it’s fine. It was just a slip up. It was nothing, Rogers not even gay himself, it’s fine, he convinced himself. 

“Only for you, Taylor” John beamed. 

“Soooo, you sort of have to play for me now”

“And why’s that?” John played with the loose string inside the pocket of his jeans as he glanced down, he really did not want to play for Roger. What if he messed up? Sure, he practices everyday. But what if Roger doesn’t think he’s good enough?

“Cause, I said so” 

“Convincing argument, but I’ll have to pass”

“No pleaseee? I really wanna hear, I’ve always had an interest in the bass”

“Really?”

“Yep.. ok so now play” 

“Roger really, I’m not too sure about this” he confessed.

“You’ll be great, now play away mate” Roger motioned him to the bass.

John sulked as he made his way over to the instrument, shoving aside engineering textbooks to make room on his desk for the case. Pulling it from its case, he brought it over to Roger. 

“I erm.. I don’t really know where to sit” he motioned to the notebook-stacked desk chair. 

Roger patted the bed, “Right here looks good” 

John shrugged as he extended his long legs and sat on the soft bed. Roger, standing in front of him, towered over him now. “Could you er maybe sit down too?” the appearance of someone towering over him reminded him of his father when he reprimanded him. It made him shutter as he grabbed his arm to stable himself. 

Puzzled but complainant, Roger jumped on the bed next to John. “Ok Madonna, I’m ready for a lovely performance” Roger grinned.

“Madonna? Where did that come from? I’m a bassist not a bloody singer”

“Oh sing for me please!” Roger begged, knowing that it would get him nowhere. 

“You’re pushing it, Taylor” he remarked as he pulled the bass strap around his head and rested his finger around the neck. 

“Well.. I don’t know what to play” John mumbled, hoping to prolong having to play for an audience. Especially because the audience was Roger. Sure, they were just friends, and there’s nothing wrong with showing your friend something, but that friend being Roger caused his palms to sweat and his heartbeat to pick up its pace. 

“Wha’daya know how to play?”

“I know lots I suppose”

“Alright then, just play what you like”

“Well what do I like?” John smiled playfully.

Roger paused for a moment before deciding to say, “Me?” He was half joking, but also a part of him was serious. Mm no he wasn’t serious, he doesn’t like blokes he likes birds. Although, John could pass as a bird with his long shiny hair. Maybe that would make it ok?

“Ha,  as if ” John sneered. 

Ouch. That stung.

John glanced at Roger and caught him staring. 

“Fine John if you don’t want to play then just don’t. I’m sorry I asked.” He darted his eyes to the floor, glaring at John with the sides of his vision.

“Roger, pft I..” John started, “You’re not properly pissed off, are you mate?” he nudged Roger slightly, causing the boy to peer up at him.

Roger gave no answer.

“Alright, I’ll play something. But only because your being a stubborn drama queen”

Roger smirked, but he still felt a little hurt. Maybe John didn’t know he was being serious. Was he even being serious, though? A part of him was mad at himself for being mad at John. Shit this was making his brain hurt. 

John leaned back and scooted himself farther onto the bed to get into a comfortable playing position. His hands trailed the bass, checking here and there to make sure it was in tune. He tuned the G at the top, turning and twisting until it sounded just right, then following the D, A, and E after that. Roger watched in subtle amazement at the process, he wondered how John just knew when the notes were in tune, how did he know when to stop? How did he not pop the strings off?

“Right I think I’m ready now”

Roger hummed a sign of approval as he watched John flutter his eyes and begin to play. 

John’s right hand pushed down on the fretboard to produce the notes, whilst his left hand worked to pluck the stings. After a few moments, Roger blushed as he recognized the song.  Afraid  by Motley Crue pounded through the large fender amp, following the bass line to precision.  _What are you so afraid of Deaky?_

John licked his lips slightly as he came to a particularly hard part, which he sighed quietly as it passed within a few seconds, returning to the easy rhythm. 

Soon, the song came to an end, and John, caught up in the music, realized that he had played through the whole song when he only meant to play less than half of it to escape having to even play at all. He looked left at Roger, who was staring at him with an amused look on his face. There was something about his eyes, the way they glossed over while his eyelashes batted seductively. 

“Mm whadid you think?” John questioned, although he sort of didn’t want to know. He wasn’t sure if it was any good or not because he was much too focused on impressing Roger with his ability to play rather than the actual music itself. 

“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.” Roger stated as if it was a fact, still batting his eyes.

John shook his head, “You’re such a flirt”

“Can you teach me something?” 

“Teach you something? How do you suppose I do that?”

“I dunno, just do it” Roger smiled like an idiot.

“Fine” John rolled his eyes.

He tried to move to angle himself so that he could show Roger the chords, but no angle seemed to be worthy of such a task. Every way he turned was wrong, which quickly made him frustrated. Roger picked up on the frustration in his movement. John decided to just trust Roger a bit and give the bass to him to hold. Unfortunately, a new challenge arose. How the hell was John supposed to show Roger the notes if Roger was the one wearing the guitar?

“Roger, I’m not sure this is going to work” he sighed.

Roger sat there contemplating something, John could see that whatever it was, he wasn’t going to like it. 

“What if...” Roger paused, questioning what he was about to say. “What if uhm..”

John rolled his eyes as he exasperatedly slammed his hand on the bed. “Roger just spit it out already” his patience was growing thin.

“What if I sat on your lap?” He blurted. As John began to open his mouth to protest, Roger quickly began to justify it, “Just so you could show me the chords easily and there’s no weird angles” he looked down at the bass, and then back up at John.

“Alright. Come here” he waved Roger onto him. What better option did he have?

As Roger got up and sat down in Johns lap, he squirmed around to find a comfortable spot, causing the heat from Johns face to travel to somewhere else..

“Rog would you quit moving so much?” John said in a playful tone, with a hint of seriousness behind it.

“Sorry love I’m just trying to get comfortable, you’re quite bony” Roger teased the boy right back.

John gasped quietly, “excuse you I am  _not_ bony, and do  _not_ call me love”

“Deacon, I’m only taking the piss” Roger assured, nervous that he had gone a little too far with his playful shenanigans. In an attempt to overcompensate, he ran his fingers over Johns upper thigh. That’s not too much, right? It’s like a pat on the back but.. er nicer?

Johns heart stopped. He could’ve sworn he was about to have a heart attack. He could feel Rogers firm grip on his thigh, a little too close for comfort. But before he could ease into it, Roger released his grip. John brushed it off as Roger being friendly, he knew how touchy the boy could be. But was he being  too touchy?

“So erm Roger would you like me to show you the chords from the song I played before?” John reached to scratch the back of his neck to stop himself from focusing on the fact that he had a squirmish blonde in his lap. 

“Yep” he replied happily. 

Long calloused fingers weaved into Rogers own as they guided his to the fretboard. Roger shuttered at the touch, blushing when he realized John had noticed. 

“You cold Roger?” John questioned.

“Mhm.. that must be it” Roger nodded back. 

John ran his hands up and down Roger arms quickly in an effort to warm him up. After a few moments he returned both of their hands to the fretboard. 

“Warm enough?”

Roger nodded back, his arms stinging at the loss of Johns hands. His hands were actually cold, but Roger didn’t have the heart to tell him. It was the thought that counted.

“Right, so I suppose I’ll just guide your fingers to the notes and we’ll take it from there, yeah?”

“Alright” Roger replied reluctantly. 

With each passing note, Rogers frustration increased. He never did have much patience, which was something his father always reprimanded him for. After the 10th note Roger stopped pressing down on the fretboard and let John do the work for him.

John laughed, “Rog cmon mate you’ve gotta work with me here”

“But it’s so harddd” Roger groaned.  _No I’m about to be hard I’m sitting on Johns fucking lap._

“You giving up then?” John was almost relieved, trying to get Roger to do something he didn’t want to do was like forcing a toddler to recite the alphabet backwards- impossible.

“I dunno I guess, what do you suppose we do now?” Roger removed the bass strap from his neck and reached to set it down on the bed carefully while turning to slightly face John, all while still sitting pretty in his hot lap.

“I erm.. I’m not too sure” John’s cheeks began to grow hot as Rogers stay in his lap exceeded its time limit. 

Suddenly something had overcome Roger, a slight wave of need washed over him. Feeling slightly rowdy and dangerously audacious, Roger looked John in the eyes as he grabbed Johns neck, satisfied when he worked a soft moan out of John. Hand still around his neck, he leaned in to whisper in Johns ear... “we could do this” he smirked while biting his lip, leaning in to kiss John.

John leaned in slightly...

“Roger no I’m sorry I can’t do this- it’s.. it’s not right, I’m not... I don’t think I’m.. I don’t wanna be..uhm” Johns pushed Roger a little too rough onto the bed as he stood up, wiping his trousers as if that would get rid of the  nasty thing he almost just did. 

Before walking out the bedroom door, he perched himself in the doorway, one hand on the side of the door before murmuring, “for what it’s worth i think you’re pretty too” before quickly speeding out the door and down the hall.

Roger laid there, completely and utterly stunned. What had he just done? 

_ Fuck. _

**Author's Note:**

> Silly John, If only you’d come to your senses and kiss the blonde. He won’t be waiting forever. In the wise words of Motley Crue, Don’t go away mad, just go away. Yes I do have an obsession with Motley Crue’s music. Shh.


End file.
